


just be friends on the way

by SiderumInCaelo



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Confessions, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 06:49:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21423970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiderumInCaelo/pseuds/SiderumInCaelo
Summary: "The school greeted Minerva McGonagall’s return with delight. Minerva threw herself into her work, proving herself a strict but inspirational teacher. If she kept letters from Dougal McGregor locked in a box under her bed, this was (she told herself firmly) better than keeping her wand locked there. Nevertheless, it was a shock to learn from the oblivious Isobel (in the middle of a chatty letter of local news) that Dougal had married the daughter of another farmer.Albus Dumbledore discovered Minerva in tears in her classroom late that evening, and she confessed the whole story to him. Albus Dumbledore offered both comfort and wisdom, and told Minerva some of his own family history, previously unknown to her. The confidences exchanged that night between two intensely private and reserved characters were to form the basis of a lasting mutual esteem and friendship." -Pottermore
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Minerva McGonagall
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	just be friends on the way

**Author's Note:**

> At least three fics - [Four Versions of June, 7th, 1957.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/711432/chapters/1315501), [Confession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887773), and [Like Rain on a Field in Scotland](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6365602) have already covered this scene, and this fic likely owes each of them some debt of inspiration.
> 
> This is set several months after _The Crimes of Grindelwald_ and briefly mentions one detail from the movie, but ought to make sense if you haven’t seen it.
> 
> The title is taken from the song "Birds Of A Feather" by Amy Ray.
> 
> Many thanks to [Bounding-Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brief_and_Dreamy/pseuds/Bounding-Heart) for the beta!

Albus reached the door to Minerva’s office and knocked. She hadn’t been in the Great Hall for dinner, and while attendance wasn’t mandatory except for feasts, it was unusual for her. He doubted there was anything amiss – probably she had just gotten caught up in marking essays – but there was no harm in checking on her.

There was no answer to his knock, but he heard a muffled noise that sounded like crying. He quickly turned the doorknob, relieved to find it unlocked, and pushed the door open.

He found Minerva standing over her desk, weeping as though she might never stop. One hand clutched the edge of the desk like it was the only thing keeping her upright. An unfolded letter lay next to it.

“Minerva!” Albus called, alarmed at such a display of emotion from someone usually so composed. “What happened?”

Minerva straightened up and turned to face him, but seemed incapable of halting her tears. Albus quickly strode over to her and clasped her shoulder; it was shaking quite violently. He conjured a squashy sofa behind her and lowered her onto it, then sat next to her, close enough to keep his hand on her shoulder.

He waited in silence for some minutes as her sobs gradually tapered off. When she began to wipe her face, he withdrew his hand and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, then handed it to her.

Once she had finished drying her face, he spoke. “Tell me if you’d rather I not pry, but… what’s upset you?”

“It’s silly,” she said, looking not at him but at her lap, where she was twisting the handkerchief.

“I confess I doubt that very much,” Albus replied. He had never known anyone less inclined to silliness than Minerva.

“It is,” she insisted. “All that happened was I received a letter from my mother, full of the usual news from the town. She mentioned that one of the farmers is getting married.”

“Shall I assume you knew this man?”

Minerva nodded. “I saw him occasionally growing up, and the summer after I graduated we became close. I was… quite taken with him.”

She glanced at Albus, then went back to looking at her lap. “He asked me to marry him.”

“You turned him down?” Albus asked.

“No,” she answered, suddenly sounding close to tears again. “I said yes.”

She explained without Albus needing to prompt her. “And then I called it off the very next morning, giving no explanation. I left for my job with the Ministry days later.

“My father is a Muggle,” she said, and Albus wondered where her explanation was going. “My mother didn’t tell him she was a witch until I was born and began performing accidental magic. It – it strained their marriage, for her to have kept that from him, and for her to be so separate from the magical world.

“It would have been the same if I had married Dougal – the farmer,” she clarified. “Even if I had told him about magic as soon as we married, he couldn’t have joined our world, nor would he have wanted to. I would’ve become a farmer’s wife with my wand kept hidden away. I wouldn’t have been able to work for the Ministry, or become a Hogwarts’ professor. Almost as soon as I said yes, I knew that wasn’t the life I wanted.”

“Do you regret your choice?” Albus asked hesitantly.

He was relieved when she shook her head. “I don’t know why the news affected me so much. I don’t wish I had married him; I haven’t been pining for him all these years. But I guess I… never thought about him moving on,” she said with a shrug.

“He represented a life you might’ve had. It’s natural to feel a sense of loss when you realize that option has been taken off the table, so to speak, even if you never would’ve chosen it,” Albus said.

Minerva was silent for a moment. “Thank you,” she eventually said, “for being understanding. I must seem ridiculous to you, weeping over a romance from nearly two decades ago.”

“Not in the least,” Albus said sternly. “You had the sense to realize the relationship would not give you what you wanted in the long term, and the courage to end it when you did, which is more than can be said for many people.” He hesitated for a moment. “Indeed, more sense and courage than I had at eighteen.”

“You?” Minerva asked, sounding doubtful.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“I confess it’s difficult to imagine you ever being foolish,” Minerva admitted, with a small smile that Albus found he couldn’t return.

“Oh, I was much worse than foolish,” he said, a heaviness he hadn’t intended creeping into his words.

Minerva looked at him curiously, and Albus realized he faced a choice here. He could force an enigmatic smile, give Minerva some final words of comfort and a pat on the shoulder, and beat a hasty retreat. Or he could return Minerva some of the trust she’d shown him.

“My mother died shortly after I graduated,” he began slowly, trying not to think about the words he was saying. “My father had already passed, so I returned home to look after my younger siblings, Aberforth and Ariana.

“I felt stifled, having to run a household when I felt I ought to be travelling and researching. So when a brilliant young man came to stay with one of our neighbors, I immediately befriended him. Finally, there was someone I could discuss the newest research with, who could not just keep up with my ideas but contribute his own, who understood my ambitions.

“I was, to use your phrase, quite taken with him. To the point that I ignored what anyone else would’ve noticed – his cruelty, his comfort with violence, his desire for power.”

Words failed him as he thought of what happened next. He stared, unseeing, across the room, until he felt a light touch at his elbow. It was Minerva, looking at him with a worried expression. “Albus?” she asked uncertainly.

“Sorry,” he said, mentally shaking himself out of his reverie. “It’s not an easy thing to discuss.”

“You don’t have to –” Minerva started to say, but Albus cut her off.

“It’s all right,” he said, even managing a small, fleeting smile at her concern. “I want you to know.

“Aberforth saw what I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, from the start, and finally he confronted us. It turned into an argument and then a fight. Gellert used the Cruciatus Curse on Aberforth and I couldn’t –”

He felt tears prickling at his eyes, and ruthlessly blinked them away. “Ariana was there, she got involved. I don’t know how, everything was so fast and chaotic” – it sounded like the feeblest of excuses, even to his own ears – “but she was struck and killed by a spell.”

Absolute silence followed his words. Minerva’s hand was still on his arm, but she didn’t say anything and Albus couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He stared at the floor instead, until a rogue tear slipped down his face, and he had to wipe it away.

“I’m very sorry,” Minerva said quietly, and Albus was grateful for the sympathy, however little he deserved it. The she paused, chewing slightly on her lip like she was weighing her next words.

“Gellert,” she finally said. “He wasn’t…” She trailed off, but Albus knew what she was asking.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m speaking of Grindelwald.”

“That’s why the Ministry came and put those ridiculous Admonitors on you – they knew about your past and thought you might be helping him?” Minerva asked.

“They know we were friends, not that we were… anything more,” he corrected. “But yes. I suppose I can’t blame them for thinking that.”

Minerva pressed her lips together like _she_ still could, and Albus felt a rush of affection at her loyalty.

“Thank you for telling me this,” she said, and Albus quirked an eyebrow at her for it.

“It’s not a very pleasant story,” he pointed out.

“No,” granted Minerva, “but I’m glad you trusted me with it.” She hesitated slightly. “Is it better, having someone else know?”

Albus gave the question the consideration it deserved. It was strange, to have given up such a long-held and closely guarded secret; he felt exposed, but also lighter for it.

“Yes,” he said simply. “And you? Are your own woes lighter for having shared them?”

“Woes,” Minerva repeated. “You make it sound so serious; it was the surprise more than anything, I think, that caused all the –” she blushed slightly, and waved her hand around – “well, the tears.

“But yes, they are. Thank you, for the sympathy, and for sharing your own travails.”

Then she glanced at her watch. “It’s late,” she said, sounding surprised. “We both have class in the morning; I didn’t mean to keep you.”

Albus stood, recognizing his cue to leave. Minerva followed, vanishing the sofa as she did. 

“Goodnight, Albus,” she said as he reached the door.

“Goodnight, Minerva, he returned. “And thank you, for your own sympathy.”

He walked back to his quarters, dogged, as he often was these days, by memories of a teenaged Gellert. But he found that the memories stung a little less, now that he had shared them with someone else.


End file.
